A stillborn love will infect
every meaningless breath we take
until the last one escapes our lungs
and only then will our passion flatline.
Like red strands of hair falling slowly,
collecting on the same tile
that cradled my knees
in the darkest moments in which
I couldn't bare your absence,
our love dissipates in time,
rediscovered in the most unexpected,
brightest scenes of remembrance
only to be lost again in the hands
of those who would grab at the affection
we savored only for each other.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
A stillborn love will infect
every meaningless breath we take
until the last one escapes our lungs
and only then will our passion flatline.
Like red strands of hair falling slowly,
collecting on the same tile
that cradled my knees
in the darkest moments in which
I couldn't bare your absence,
our love dissipates in time,
rediscovered in the most unexpected,
brightest scenes of remembrance
only to be lost again in the hands
of those who would grab at the affection
we savored only for each other.
Written in April 2021
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